Mum is the Word

The fact that animals, pets in particular, don’t speak our language (thus, cannot speak linguistically to us) must be up there on the scale of “remind me to thank someone, someday, somehow for this”.

It isn’t that I wish I could communicate with my three dogs, two hamsters and two fish, to find out if I am: being a good master; feeding them what they like; exercising and playing with them enough or creating a welcoming environment for them, I think I do.  I converse with my pets, all of them, individually and as an assembly, each and every day.  I admit I have been doing this for years, with all the animals I have shared my life (husbands and children do not count).  It is just that I am sometimes quite grateful that they don’t speak back.

And, it isn’t exactly fair to say I wouldn’t want them to chat back with me.  The real reason I am glad they cannot articulate back is that, I wouldn’t want the sensitive material that I have sometimes (okay, a lot of times) imparted to them, which isn’t up for public consumption, to end up being (if divulged to an inappropriate or inscrutable third party) a determent to my health, well-being and redemption.  As in, if the animals were capable of spilling the beans, I might be up the ole’ creek without a paddle.

In my early years, I found my pets to be willing listeners to my droning on of adolescent trials and tribulations.  Matter of fact, they may have been the only ones who really understood what I was going through.  And after all was said and done, my fine, furry ones still loved me unconditionally.  Not that my parents didn’t see me through this delightful stage, they did, but it wouldn’t be cool to discuss everything with your parents.

As I grew older, my dogs were never far from my side and were there for many a good time and bad.  We plotted great schemes of fame and fortune together.  We commiserated when the going got tough (although, at times, I had to compare and convert to terminology that they would understand, i.e.  what if they thought their bone was lost forever? What if their squeaky toy stopped squeaking? What if they were not taken out?).  We laughed, we cried, we survived life.  There were some things lost in translation, but not many.  And, I learned that you can share secrets with your dog or cat that you just can’t with a hamster, guinea pig or fish.  There is a genuine deepness of feelings with felines and canines that just isn’t there with some of the other species.

A rub on the belly, a toss of a ball or a special chewy treat isn’t much in the way of repaying your beloved (and I am not talking your spousal unit or partner) for all they do for you.  The idea of spending quality time, divulging confidentialities and running through “what-if” scenarios with your animals rather than a two legged anthropological being may be a worthwhile alternative to look into.  The unequivocal loyalty and love, and the ability to keep a secret, makes a good argument as to why some people prefer their furry confidants.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.    

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-